The Leaving of Liverpool
by Biggles Mad
Summary: A 666 Squadron story by HRH. Ginger provides moral support to George "Ferocity" Ferris when he is obliged to return to his home city of Liverpool to carry out family duties.


The Leaving of Liverpool

"Post's up," announced Ginger as he entered the Mess with a handful of envelopes.

There was a general stirring as newspapers were set aside and the officers of 666 Squadron, familiarly known as Biggles' Squadron, left their seats to gather round.

Ginger handed out the letters.

"Och, a bill," exclaimed Angus disgruntled, stuffing his communication in his pocket.

"You know what Mr. Churchill said," broke in Ferocity cheerily; "'never in the field of human conflict has so much been owed by so many to so few' – he must have seen your Mess bills!"

"Ye wee whippersnapper!" growled Angus, taking a playful swipe at Ferocity with his Glengarry.

Ferocity chuckled and avoided the blow with ease.

"There's one for you," remarked Ginger, handing over a grubby envelope with ill formed writing describing the address in pencil.

Ferocity took it. "It's from me antie," he observed. "I wonder what she wants."

"You'll never know unless you open it, old boy," Bertie told him.

The recipients took their letters and retired to their armchairs to read.

Ginger who, like his flight commander and his CO had not received anything, sat on the sofa next to Algy and leaned back crossing one leg over the other. What prompted him to glance across at Ferocity who was seated to his right he had no idea, but he was in time to see the blood drain from the Liverpudlian's face.

"What's the matter?" he asked concerned. "Bad news?"

Ferocity nodded. "It's me cousin, me antie's son, he's been killed in a mid-air collision over Lincolnshire. He was in bombers, see."

There was a general murmur of condolences.

"Bad luck," offered Ginger.

"The funeral's on Friday," continued Ferocity. "Me antie wants me there."

"I'll see you get compassion leave," Biggles assured him. "Ginger can go with you to represent the squadron."

"Thank you, sir," said Ferocity huskily. "Me antie was like a mum to me and Phil, me cousin, was just like a brother. We did everything together until he went to fly the heavies."

"See Toddy and arrange a travel warrant," instructed Biggles. "I'll be in touch with the CO of your cousin's squadron so you can accompany his body home. Not a pleasant task, but at least he'll be travelling with his family."

The news had cast a pall of gloom over the Mess and no one lingered long after dinner. Administrative arrangements were swiftly made to enable Ginger to accompany Ferocity up to RAF Waddington, near Lincoln, where the pair had a distressing interview with Phil's CO.

After introductions, the youthful Squadron Leader accompanied them to the morgue, where a dozen coffins lay in rows.

Ginger was shocked at the number. "Didn't anybody get out?" he asked horrified.

"'Fraid not," replied the CO laconically. "Two full crews." He hesitated before telling Ferocity that he could spend a few moments alone with his cousin if he wished.

Ferocity nodded, unable to speak. Discreetly, the Squadron Leader drew Ginger out of earshot. "I didn't want to say this to Phil's cousin, but you're going with him to the funeral, aren't you?"

Ginger nodded. "My CO thought it would be a good idea."

The Squadron Leader nodded briefly. "I think I ought to warn you," he murmured quietly, "there wasn't a lot to gather up. Most of the weight in the coffin is sandbags."

Ginger felt sick, but he understood why the CO had told him. "I understand. He'll be laid to rest without anybody being any the wiser."

"Good lad," approved the officer. "Let's go and rejoin Flying Officer Ferris."

Ferocity was standing with his hand on the coffin, deep in thought. No doubt he was remembering the happy days of his boyhood with his cousin.

"I've arranged transport to the station and a team of pall bearers to load Phil onto the train," the Squadron Leader told him. "Your cousin was an excellent pilot, very dedicated and popular. He'll be sadly missed."

Ferocity nodded abstractedly. Ginger wondered how many times the young Squadron Leader had made that speech, whether in person or by letter.

The door of the morgue opened and a team of six airmen marched in and saluted smartly. With due reverence they transferred the coffin to the back of a Bedford truck, swinging themselves aboard. Ginger and Ferocity followed.

The journey to the railway station was made in silence. Once there, they disembarked and the coffin was loaded into the guard's van, much to the discomfort of the guard, a thin, weedy looking individual with greasy hair.

"He won't be bothering you," Ferocity told him bluntly. "At least he did his bit."

The guard looked shifty. "I've got bad feet," he muttered.

Ferocity looked at him with contempt. He would have sat down to travel with his cousin's body, but the guard told him passengers were not allowed in his van.

For a moment Ginger thought Ferocity was going to hit the man, but then Ferocity shrugged and marched off at a brisk pace along the platform. Ginger was forced to run after him to catch up.

He reached his fellow pilot just as the Liverpudlian arrived at a second class carriage with empty seats and climbed aboard. Ginger took the seat beside him, wedged between a stout woman dressed in black, clutching a basket, and his grieving colleague. The train gave a lurch and steam hissed past their window like an enraged goose, but the carriage did not move.

Eventually, after several shuddering false starts, the train crept out of the station on its way to the North-West.

"It's funny, sort of," said Ferocity eventually. "I haven't been back since Phil joined up. I wonder what the old place will look like."

Ginger was thinking the same. He had read the newspaper reports of the raids and thought Ferocity would probably find the city much altered.

"Did your aunt write to you often?" asked Ginger to pass the time.

Ferocity shook his head. "She wasn't much good with letters," he admitted. "I used to get a card at Christmas, that was about it. But we was all close, all the same."

The train racketed its way north, occasionally stopping in the middle of nowhere for no purpose that its occupants could fathom.

When eventually it drew into Lime Street, Ginger and Ferocity alighted and went to pick up their charge. A man in a black top hat with a crepe band was waiting by the van. "Mr Ferris?" he asked Ginger.

Ginger shook his head and indicated Ferocity. "I'm from the Co-op undertakers," the man introduced himself. Mrs Docherty has entrusted us with the funeral arrangements."

Ferocity nodded curtly. Ginger hung back while the two of them went to supervise the sad homecoming of Mrs Docherty's son. Presently, the coffin passed by on the shoulders of the civilian pallbearers. Ginger stood to attention and saluted before falling in behind with Ferocity.

The journey to Ferocity's aunt's house did not take long. Ginger was appalled at the devastation that surrounded the docks. The Blitz had been bad, but Liverpool had suffered equally as much, he realised.

The hearse drew up outside a mean terraced house in a row which was missing the end houses. Broken slates littered the street and several windows were missing from blast damage. A small, frail woman dressed in black came out of the front door.

"George!" she exclaimed, clasping Ferocity to her bosom. "It's good to have yer back." She stifled a sob as the undertaker began the process of unloading the coffin.

Ferocity introduced Ginger, but he sensed his aunt was too distracted to pay any attention to the formalities.

Mrs Docherty led the small cortege into the front parlour where the table had been laid out to receive the coffin for the lying in state before the funeral.

The undertaker had barely left when the first visitors arrived to pay their last respects. Ginger, feeling more than ever a stranger intruding on the family's grief, found a place out of the way at the edge of the room as a large number of relatives, neighbours and friends crowded in. Sandwiches were produced and cups of tea appeared as if by magic.

"Are you one of Phil's squadron?" a pretty young woman bearing a tray of refreshments asked Ginger.

He blushed. "No, I'm with Fer – George's squadron," he corrected himself.

"One of the Fighter Boys?" she asked coquettishly.

He nodded. "I fly Spitfires," he admitted diffidently.

"Wizard!" she exclaimed somewhat self-consciously. "Isn't that what you say?"

Ginger smiled. "Not me, personally, but it has been known."

She looked at him curiously. "I thought all fighter pilots had big moustaches," she opined, thinking he did not look old enough to shave.

Ginger laughed. "Not me, personally, but some do. Only one of our bunch does though."

She looked disappointed, but somewhat mollified when Ginger added, "he's a lord."

"I see you've met Ethel," observed Ferocity, joining them with a pint of beer in his hand. "She's Phil's little sister."

"Not so much of the little, George!" pouted Ethel. "I'm seventeen. I'll be joining the WAAFs soon."

Ferocity threw up his hands in mock horror. "No station in England will be safe!" he teased. Ethel flounced off in a huff.

"She's a great kid," murmured Ferocity, following her passage wistfully.

Ginger nodded, but realised that there was about to be a potential calamity if he did not act swiftly. Mrs Docherty had just announced that she wanted to look at her son for the last time and had instigated a search for someone to open the coffin.

Ginger clutched Ferocity's arm. "Stop your aunt opening the coffin," he hissed urgently.

Ferocity looked at him blankly, "Why?" he started to say, then as Ginger mouthed the words 'raspberry jam', the penny dropped.

"What shall I say?"

"Tell her that it's best she remember him happy and smiling the way he always was, rather than dead – anything you can think of," said Ginger desperately.

Ferocity took his aunt's arm and led her into the kitchen, saying, "it's been such a long time, antie …" The door closed behind them and Ginger breathed a sigh of relief until a tall cadaverous man appeared with a screwdriver.

Ginger went up to him as he approached the coffin. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he advised.

The man looked at him. "Mrs Docherty wants to see her boy for the last time," he protested.

Ginger looked the man squarely in the eye. "Mrs Docherty wants to see her boy as he used to be – not how he is after he's fallen from 10,000 feet without a parachute," he said meaningfully.

The man turned white and put the screwdriver in his pocket.

"Very wise," approved Ginger. "If Mrs Docherty mentions it again, it would be best to say there's no way of opening up the coffin, don't you think?"

The man gulped and nodded.

"You'd best find Ethel and get a cup of tea," advised Ginger. "It's good for shock."

The man went off into the kitchen in search of refreshment, leaving Ginger alone with a crowd of unknown Liverpudlians. He was relieved when Ferocity returned.

"Did you manage to persuade your aunt?" asked Ginger.

Ferocity nodded. "It was touch and go, but in the end I managed to convince her it was better to keep the memory of him when she saw him off at the end of his last leave. I said it would haunt her all her life if she could only remember him dead."

"You're right there," breathed Ginger fervently. "A few body parts and some sandbags would be a terrible shock to her system!"

Ferocity looked at him sharply.

"Phil's CO told me when we left you alone in the morgue," he explained. "He thought he'd spare your feelings. I would have, too, if it hadn't been for your aunt wanting one last look."

Ferocity closed his eyes. "Doesn't bear thinking about," he admitted. "I've seen some nasty crashes in my time, but it's worse when it's your own flesh and blood. Poor Phil. Such a waste – to die in a training accident …" he broke off, at a loss for words.

Eventually the mourners left until the funeral early the following day. Mrs Docherty apologised to Ginger for not looking after him properly, "and you coming from so far away and all," she added.

"Don't mention it, Mrs Docherty," murmured Ginger. "I quite understand. It's a very sad time for you and your family. I'm only sorry to make your acquaintance under such tragic circumstances." As he uttered the conventional phrases, he thought Biggles would have been proud of him.

Mrs Docherty bustled about preparing a room for them.

"He's got very nice manners, your pal," Ethel, who had witnessed the exchange observed to her cousin when Ginger had gone to wash. "Very la-di-da."

Ferocity laughed. "Ginger? La-di-da? That's a good 'un. He's a Geordie from a mining village. He's no different from us."

Ethel looked put out. "Well, he sounds nice," she insisted.

Ferocity looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. She was remarkably pretty he realised. Here was a smashing girl who had been right under his nose all the time and he had completely overlooked her. He was about to say something when Ginger returned. Realising he had missed his chance, Ferocity took his turn in the bathroom. Ginger tried to make polite conversation, but alone with him, Ethel had suddenly become bashful. He was relieved when it was time for him and Ferocity to retire to their room for the night.

Ginger slept fitfully. In the early hours of the morning he was woken by the wail of sirens and they all trooped down to the cellar for the duration of the raid. By the time it was over, dawn was beginning to break, its light vying with the ruddy glow of the burning docks. He was relieved when they set off for the cathedral to lay Ferocity's cousin to rest. The mournful ceremony over, they said their goodbyes and set off back to Rawlham. Ferocity stared out of the window as the train drew out of the bomb scarred city. He sang softly under his breath. Ginger strained to hear the words: "_Farewell to Lower Frederick Street, Anson Terrace and Park Lane, farewell, it will be some long time before I see you again_."

Ferocity stopped when he saw Ginger watching him quizzically. "My granddad used to sing that," he explained. "He used to sail on the clipper ships out of Liverpool. It's not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me, but my darling when I think of you," he quoted. He blushed. "I should have asked Ethel if she'd walk out with me," he confessed. "We've been friends since we were nippers, but I never thought of her as a young woman until she started to show some interest in you."

"In me?" exclaimed Ginger in surprise. "We hardly exchanged more than a dozen words!"

Ferocity looked sheepish. "It made me jealous anyway," he admitted. "I'm glad you came with me; it's made me realise how blind I've been and just what I've missed, even though it was under my nose all those years. When I get back, I'm going to write to her and ask her to be my girl."

Ginger felt envious. He had never had a girlfriend. Maybe one day he would find someone, but he had no idea when.


End file.
